


The Boggart

by FallenAngelWings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenAngelWings/pseuds/FallenAngelWings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soooooo I was on tumblr, and I saw this: http://mindpalaceofversailles.tumblr.com/post/54185416122/obviously-their-boggarts-would-be-each-others<br/>And I was like, “I could write that.” And then I was like, “Fuck it, I will write that.”<br/>2 hours later and I had this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boggart

John let out an impatient sigh. Leave it to Sherlock to be late again for class. He loosened his red and gold tie in frustration. He was probably running around the library, hastily returning books having just now realized the time. John smiled to himself just thinking about how Sherlock’s black curls would bounce as he sprinted around. He’d always been fond of his curls, ever since that fateful first train ride to Hogwarts in their first year.   
He remembered how nervous he had been, walking around the train trying to find somewhere to sit. He’d stop every few steps to marvel at all the fantastic things happening around him. Being a muggleborn, he still wasn’t quite used to the idea of magic just yet. Just as he was about to give up hope, he peered into one seemingly empty compartment. Empty that is, except for one small boy about his age with his nose shoved in a book. 

“Hello, I’m John Watson.”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

They’d been friends ever since. Even when the sorting hat split them apart, Sherlock being sent to Ravenclaw, and John to Gryffindor, they had been sure to smile at each other from across the Great Hall, silently agreeing that their houses would not deter their friendship. 5 years later and that silent vow still had not been broken.However, lately, John had to admit they were becoming a little more than friends. At least, he supposed making out in every unused classroom they could find meant they were a little more than friends.  
He thought of how surprisingly warm Sherlock’s lips were, especially pressed against his. How he loved the sound of his deep voice moaning into his mouth. How his....  
“Alright, class settle down! Mr. Lestrade, get off that table!” called Professor Gregson from across the room. “Everyone move the tables to the sides if you please and then come stand in a line in the middle of the room.” While all of the students moved tables to the side, John could see Filch pushing a large wardrobe into the room.   
“So students, today I have decided to challenge you a bit and move onto more hands on curriculum.” Gregson said as students congregated near him, staring curiously at the wardrobe. “Today we are going to be learning about boggarts. I know this is a subject typically introduced in lower years than you, but it has been brought to my attention that this year was not taught about them previously. Now a bogg..  
The professor was then cut off as the door opened once again, this time revealing a tall, pale Ravenclaw boy laden down with numerous books. “Mr. Holmes, so glad you could join us. If you could please run to the back of the line. And ten points from Ravenclaw.”  
Half the class groaned at the point loss as Sherlock set down his things at the back of the class. Gregson continued his spiel about boggarts, but John was only half listening. Sherlock was already ignoring Gregson and secretly reading from one of his obviously very heavy books. John thought Sherlock probably already knew all there was to know about boggarts. He smirked a little and went back to listening to Gregson. Sherlock may know everything, but John did not.  
“... remember, Riddikulus! Now step forward when it’s your turn.” Gregson stepped away and put a needle on an old record in the corner. Upbeat jazz music began to play as the first student stepped up to the wardrobe. It was a small blonde girl that John didn’t recognize. Suddenly, the knob on wardrobe turned and out stepped the most gruesome looking clown John had ever seen. However, with one flick of her wand, the clown tripped over its own feet and began to roll on the floor. More students took their turns and more and more fears came alive. A large black wolf that foamed at the mouth, a vampire wrapped in a cloak, even a walking ventriloquist doll. Time seemed to fly by, and soon John was getting worried that the class would end before he had a chance. He was a true Gryffindor after all, he wanted to show his courage.  
John lucked out though, with just 10 minutes until the end of the class period, he was at the front of the line. The boy in front of him had just changed his large storm cloud, which emitted loud thunder, so that it instead played ‘Yankee Doodle’. It was only in the split few seconds that John stepped in front of the boggart that he wondered what it would turn into. Raising his wand he prepared himself, smiling cockily. At first, the cloud did nothing. It just floated there, as if trying to readed him. Then it changed.  
A few girls screamed when it finally materialized. None of the fears before had been this gruesome, this graphic. It was a corpse of boy. He was surrounded by a pool of his own blood, with some still trickling down his white face. His white button up shirt and gray sweater vest were stained with already drying blood. The blue and bronze tie which hung loosely around his neck was bunched up, also splattered red. John’s stomach dropped along with his heart. Because even covered in blood, everyone in the room could see that Sherlock Holmes was lying dead on the floor.  
John’s breath caught in his throat as tears welled up in his eyes. “R-ri-r..” he spluttered out, desperate to make the corpse go away. He gazed at the curls which he so loved, matted and wet from lying in the blood. Tears spilled down his cheeks and he sank to his knees. His best friend was dead in front of him. He let out a choked sob.   
He felt a hand on his shoulder bringing him up. “Come on, John. ‘Riddikulus’. It’s not real.” said a familiar, incredibly deep voice. “I-I can’t...” John spoke softly. Sherlock pulled him into a hug and John buried his face into the taller boy’s shoulder. He heard Gregson send the boggart back into the wardrobe, but at the moment he didn’t care. He just wanted to feel the warmth of his friend and listen to the heartbeat that reassured him he was alive. Sherlock was alive and loved him.  
When he pulled away, he could tell the entire class was looking at them. That is, until the bell rang and everyone ran to grab their stuff as Gregson yelled out their homework assignment. Sherlock looked down at him with concern. His huge observing eyes, whose color John could never guess, studied him carefully. “Are you okay?”

“No, but I will be. But for now, we’re going to be late for Potions.”


End file.
